Page 17 of Duke of Pride

He was wrong to relapse even for a moment, to show remorse for the way he had treated her. This woman was a menace. She had to go.

CHAPTER5

Croquet

The next few days passed in relative peace. ‘Peace’ perhaps was too much because Victoria was still living under the same roof as Stephen, and on the rare occasions he left his study, they would clash. They never skipped an opportunity to take a jab at each other, making sure that each barb hit its mark.

The only rule that Victoria imposed on herself was not to wander in the house after dark. She had to make sure that there was no repeat of the dressing room ‘incident’ and the library ‘episode.’ She had no intention of exhausting both the dictionary’s synonyms for various situations and parts of the house.

Other than that, the house was following Stephen’s rules, and though Victoria and Dorothy found ways to enjoy themselves, something was shifting, and a new reality was settling in.

“You are late for dinner, Miss Victoria.”

“No running in the house, Miss Victoria.”

“No dogs allowed in the residence, Miss Victoria.”

Everything followed a rigid schedule that was set by him: mealtimes, tea time, bedtime. Bedtime! As if they were children and needed to be reminded of what time to retire.

Plus, there were no more gatherings in the parlor. No more laughter and whispers. Dorothy and Victoria had friends, and somehow the house had become the hub of their meetings—an unofficial ladies’ club, filled with preposterous gossip and loud laughter. But the master of the house forbade such gatherings. The great estate, once brimming with life and warmth, had settled into something closer to order.

Stephen seemed satisfied with this. Victoria was not. And she made sure that she showed him at any chance she got. Breakfasts became a battlefield, and no one was backing down. It somehow made Dorothy’s day to see them banter every morning.

That day was no different. Victoria was watching him drink his tea and talk to his mother about estate matters with rigor. There was something in the way he talked, his deep timbre, his smooth movements, that for some reason irritated her. And when he concluded the morning report, he proceeded to butter a scone with such surgical precision.

“Your Grace, may I ask for an exception to the rules? You see, I was thinking?—”

“No,” he said with the sharpness of an executioner’s axe.

Victoria’s jaw dropped at his rude manner. He didn’t even hear her out. She longed to see his impeccable façade cracked.Shewould crack it.

“Are you always this cheerful in the mornings, Your Grace?” she asked, cutting into the eggs on her plate.

“I don’t recall asking for conversation, Miss Victoria.” Stephen didn’t even look up from his paper.

“Oh, but you see, I am doing you a service.”

She took a bite, smiling sweetly. His gaze flickered up, just for a second. A warning.

She ignored it.

“It must be terribly exhausting, carrying all that brooding around so early in the day. I merely wish to lighten the mood.”

“I do not brood,” Stephen muttered, turning a page.

Dorothy, mid-sip, made a small sound that might have been a snort. Stephen’s cold blue eyes flicked to his mother, then back to Victoria.

“You do not brood, you say.” Victoria tilted her head. “Then what do you call that charming scowl you wear right now?”

“Concentration. And an infinite study in patience.”

“My patience, obviously,” Victoria pushed.

Stephen scowled warningly at her, but she took his warning as a challenge.

“And how about that constant scowl?”

Stephen slowly folded his newspaper and placed it beside his plate with measured precision, giving up on finishing reading it. He met her gaze with that unreadable expression of his, the one that made the air between them thicken.

---